


Epiphany

by BeastOfTheSea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, HP: EWE, M/M, Romance, post—hogwarts, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeastOfTheSea/pseuds/BeastOfTheSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry should be happy, but he can barely stand his life. Ron should be happy for his sister, but he can barely stand it. </p>
<p>Neither can go on like this, but can they realize that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epiphany

**Author's Note:**

> **Generic Harry Potter disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> * * *
> 
> So I don't know how this happened. I just wanted to write an angsty shortfic and wound up over 2K words later with a completed oneshot. I'm baffled. Why can this never happen when I _want_ to work on something?

_He’s marrying my sister._

Ron sat and stared out the window, mind on anything but the bright summer day.

_He’s marrying my sister._

His mind kept going back to seeing a small, dark-haired boy sitting by himself on the Hogwarts Express, and joining him just to get away from the noise and crowds.

_He’s marrying my sister. I can’t blame him._

He’d been a right git to Harry. Jealous, angry, unfaithful…

His finger traced the wood grain of the table. Little wonder Harry preferred Ginny. Fiery, worshipful, beautiful… Better at Quidditch than he’d ever been… Who wouldn’t prefer his sister to him?

_You are nothing, nothing, nothing to him._

Sometimes he wondered if the Horcrux had been right.

* * *

“Harry, how about we go to Diagon Alley today?”

“Not in the mood, Ginny.” He added brusquely, “Sorry.”

He ought to have been grateful for a girlfriend – a _fiancée_ like Ginny. Ron and Hermione had broken up months ago, after some big fight that left Ron with several nasty bruises and Hermione with several appointments with anger-management therapists. They’d just never worked out, much as they’d tried. He should have been happy with Ginny, yet…

He pinched his nose, looking down as his fiancée huffed and left the room in high dudgeon, muttering something about him never being in the mood to go out and thinking of taking the Floo over to Luna’s. He didn’t blame her. He never _was_ in the mood to go out.

Something’d gone wrong with his life, and he didn’t know what.

Years of not letting himself know his own unhappiness at the Dursleys, a forced necessity for survival – years of not letting himself admit his resentment of the Wizarding World’s alternate hero-worship and slander, a duty borne from gratitude at receiving any attention at all – years of not letting himself acknowledge the full extent of Dumbledore’s two-facedness, a desperate romance with faith that led to only an explosion of bitterness and grief when at last, months after the War, he began to come to grips with the truth –

And now, he couldn’t let himself know what was bothering him even when he _tried_.

He only got up when he heard the _whoosh_ of the fire announcing Ginny’s departure. Maybe he could talk to Ron.

For some reason, his old friend was the sole person who could make him feel better.

* * *

“Um,” Ron said, because he didn’t know how else to start the conversation. “Any… reason you’re here?”

“I need one now?”

He flinched at the snappishness in Harry’s voice. “No, it’s just… you don’t get out much.”

Harry sat slumped on Ron’s sofa, his messy hair falling over his eyes and into his glasses as he picked at the edge of a place where the fabric had been patched-up. He looked like he hadn’t been eating. Harry’d never had the best memory for when he was supposed to eat, but – more than that, he just looked – uncared-for. It unnerved Ron.

_She hasn’t been taking care of him, she doesn’t appreciate him, she –_

Right. _And_ you _were so good at that, were you?_

“I guess I don’t,” Harry said in an indifferent voice, running his fingers across the sofa in search of a new place at which to pick. “Haven’t felt like it lately.”

“Any idea why?”

“Dunno.” He looked up at Ron, his eyes blinking and squinting as though they were unused to really focusing on anything. “I was hoping you’d help me figure that out.”

They were nice eyes, abstractly speaking – they’d always been dazzling, when they were fixed on you. He’d always thought some of the girls twittering around Harry in sixth year were into him for more than his fame, no matter what Harry thought. But maybe that was just him being stupid.

But they’d been so much more… before. Back when Harry always had some intense, thoughtful look in his eyes no matter what the situation was or how distracted he should have been. Not broody, like some bloke from one of his mother’s romance novels. Harry hadn’t been the sort to gaze at his navel and contemplate the deeper meaning of toejam or whatnot. Just _thoughtful_.

But now…

He snapped out of it, disgusted with himself for getting caught up in Harry’s eyes like a first-year girl (Ginny’s poetry – _eyes like a fresh pickled toad_ – Merlin, so _awful_ but so _memorable_ ), and sat down beside Harry on the couch. “So,” he began. “You and Ginny…”

“Me and Ginny,” Harry repeated flatly, looking away.

“There… something wrong?” He paused, groping for a polite inquiry. _Emotional depth of a teaspoon!_ “Have you been… not getting along?”

“We haven’t been fighting, if that’s what you’re asking.” Harry found a stray thread on his jeans and started picking at it. “Or talking, for that matter.”

“Oh.” Ron paused awkwardly. “Why’s she mad at you?”

“She’s not mad at me. Much.” Harry caught the thread, pulled on it. It didn’t snap or come loose. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m mad at her.”

“ _Why?_ ”

Harry looked up at him just enough to give him a bitter smile. “I shouldn’t, right? Best girlfriend I could ask for?”

Ron swallowed. “That’s not what I meant, I mean –”

“It’s all right. You’re her brother, you’re _supposed_ to defend her.” If resentment could actually drip, there’d have been a growing puddle on the coffee table in front of them. “You’re right, I should just be glad. How many girls are really into Quidditch, right? And as bold as the boys? And she’s been with me _practically_ from first year – her first year, at any rate – I should be glad. After all, she’s a Weasley, right? I ought to be grateful. This way, I can marry into the family.”

Ron was utterly lost. “Are you – are you mad at us?”

“ _You_?” Harry looked at him with frank astonishment. “No. Why’d I ever be mad at you? I like your mum and dad, and all your brothers. Well, maybe not Percy, but he’s gotten his head on straight – these days.” _After the War._ “He’s a decent chap now.”

“Then what…”

“I – I don’t know. I – Maybe I thought – Back in the old days,” Harry blurted out, “I felt like – like I was already part of the family. Like we – you and me – we were brothers. And we’d always be that way. I –” He broke off, looking lost. “See – see, this is why I needed to talk to you. Because, around you – I, I don’t know, I feel like I can actually _think_ –”

He trailed off in a flurry of stammering and sentence fragments. “I, um,” Ron said, chewing his lip. “I, er. Why d’you think that is?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Harry said in growing frustration. “I don’t know. I just – I can actually _breathe_ around you. I feel – like myself. Every now and then – happy, even. And I don’t feel like that around Ginny, I just feel like I’m strangling and I could _die_ –”

“Harry!” Ron grabbed Harry by the shoulders. “Stop it, mate, you’re hyperventilating!”

And indeed he was; he was breathing like one of George’s more contrived contraptions had just before it had blown and sent clouds of shrapnel and rainbow-colored goo flying all over the room. With Ron’s hands steadying him, his breathing stabilized and he began to sound normal again. “Sorry. I’m – sorry,” he said, shaking his head, his hair going every which way. “I just – I just _can’t_ –”

“ _Harry_ –”

He was silent for a while, just working on keeping his breathing even. “I don’t know,” he finally said, so quietly that Ron could barely hear him. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I – I know, mate,” Ron said. “I don’t know either.”

“What’s wrong with me?” he asked. “I should be happy. And I’m _not_.” He ducked his head and buried his hands in his hair. “And around you, I can _admit_ that I’m _not_ –”

Ron watched him carefully, in case he was about to burst into another fit of hyperventilation, but took his hands away and put them in his pockets when Harry kept himself together. “I – I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you,” he ventured. “Maybe with the situation. Maybe you and Ginny ought to just – take a break. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.”

“Familiarity breeds contempt is more like it,” Harry muttered. “Anyway, thanks, Ron. I – need to go think about it. You’ve been a great help.”

_Not much of one_ , Ron thought, but Harry was already standing up from the couch and stiffly extending a hand. Not knowing what else to do, Ron took it.

Harry didn’t let go after they shook. “Ron?” he said, sounding and looking for all the world like a lonely, awkward eleven-year-old again.

“Yes?” Ron said hesitantly, not sure what was going on.

“You… you’ll always be my friend, won’t you? No matter what happens?”

Memories of his stupidity in fourth-year and his Horcrux-addled rage during the camping trip from Hell flashed through his mind. He swallowed hard. “If you… if you don’t mind, I mean… yeah. Sure. Always.”

Harry’s hand squeezed tighter around Ron’s, and he shook it again before releasing. Surreptitiously, Ron wrung out his hand once he’d dropped it to his side. Harry had a stronger grip than his wan, too-thin appearance indicated. “Thanks,” Harry said, his voice shaky. “I – I appreciate it, Ron. Always. Even if I don’t tell you –”

He scrunched up his face, tossing his head back and forth like he was trying to clear it, and ran for the door. Before Ron could ask what was going on, he turned the knob, yanked open the door roughly, headed through, and slammed it behind him, his footsteps heading rapidly down the apartment hallway.

Ron just stood there staring, wondering what was going on. Harry was – weird. And he ought to know why. Even if they weren’t talking much (even if Harry wasn’t talking to _anyone_ much, from the sounds of it), he should know how his best friend felt –

Hermione’d always told him he was no good at knowing how people were feeling. Screamed it at him, in fact, more than a few times before their relationship fell apart beyond all hope of salvage.

Ron sighed and turned away, letting his shoulders slump as he walked off to his kitchen. She’d been right, of course. Hermione knew best. Hermione had always known best.

Sometimes he wondered why Harry had ever kept him around.

* * *

Harry walked the streets of Wizarding London in a harried way, even though there was nowhere he was going to, nowhere he was coming from, and nowhere he needed to go past. He just needed to walk. Anywhere. Anywhere but sitting still and letting himself _think_ –

It was fine. He was just another bloke in glasses, here. He’d let his hair grow out, until his nape coiled at the base of his neck and his fringe nearly went into his eyes. Ginny liked it because it made him look mysterious, she said. He liked it because it covered the scar and, if nobody took the time to look too long at his face, made them leave him alone.

Ginny –

Why had he fallen for Ginny?

Absence made the heart grow fonder – Yes, he’d had too little time with her in sixth year, and then he’d been obsessed when he couldn’t be with her. He’d been just out of this world when they could finally be together again. And then –

Familiarity breeds contempt, he’d said. The bloom was off the rose, more like. The newness had worn off, and after that – nothingness. Just a dull apathy, an indifference, a weariness, and the exhaustion of trying to pretend nothing was wrong, the desperation of trying to reclaim whatever had been lost without anyone else knowing it had gone missing in the first place. And then the exhaustion had won out, and he’d given up the pretense entirely.

What had happened?

Was the novelty all there had ever been?

No. He swore that wasn’t it. There’d been something more, something else, in the beginning.

He passed by a stall, turning to indifferently look at all the customers lined up and chatting as they waited for their turn at the food. He did it just for a change in the view. Was that all Ginny had ever been to him? Those sunlit days – just stimulation, in a time of anxiety and war?

No – there’d been more than that. It had been honest, in the beginning. He’d truly felt – something.

But what?

She’d been lovely. Lovely, spirited, vivacious – and brash and aggressive as any bloke, more so, really. Confident. Strong. Outspoken. A Quidditch player. A Weasley.

And in fifth year, she’d been – like one of the blokes, really. Someone who was just there. Someone he could get along with. Like Ron, a bit, but without any of Ron’s insecurities. All of Ron’s virtues, with none of his flaws. A more perfect Ron.

Harry stopped in the middle of the street, deaf to the din of passerby around him.

_A more perfect Ron. A female Ron._

The words repeated in his head, weighed with meaning but with him unable to grasp it. But she hadn’t been like Ron. She wasn’t like Ron. She was bold, lively, funny, vigorous – but she wasn’t Ron. And he’d fallen out with her, when he’d really gotten to know her. Because he saw her for who she was, with the blinding gleam of newness dimmed, and she was admirable and all that, but she wasn’t _Ron_ –

His brow furrowed as he stared at the cobblestones before him, scarcely noticing the boots and shoes that trod over them and around him. _A more perfect Ron, a female Ron, but she wasn’t Ron._

The phrases went around and around in his head, alternating their order and their emphasis, but they seemed – just barely – to remain out of his reach. If he could grasp their meaning – their _true_ meaning, not just the words themselves – he felt he would understand everything.

If he could just…

* * *

The doorbell rang. A quick glance out the view-hole showed it was Harry. He opened the door.

On the one hand, it looked like he hadn’t slept – or, if he’d done it at all, it had been in his clothes. He was rumpled, unkempt, and slightly punch-drunk. His black lashes flickered up and down over his eyes as he blinked, staring out at the world with all the bewildered alertness of a mistreated owl.

But, on the other, he looked better than he had – for months, really. Maybe all year. His spine was straight, his shoulders no longer sagging, and his head held high. There was some life in his face and a flush in his cheeks.

Ron would have hugged him out of sheer relief if blokes hugged blokes. Well. As friends, anyway.

“I’m not with Ginny anymore,” Harry announced without preamble.

“You’re what?” Ron recovered after a moment of staring at him and gaping like a fish. “I mean – what happened?”

Harry grimaced. “There was a lot of crying.”

And Harry could never handle crying. “Oh. Um.” He would have asked how that happened, with Ginny never being the crying type, but – she’d been in love with Harry, even if Harry was no longer – that way about her.

_Not enough in love to notice how_ he _felt,_ a sneering tendril of envy whispered, with no small amount of satisfaction, but Ron crushed it under his heel. It made him sick to even acknowledge it was there. Sometimes he wondered if he’d ever recovered all the way from that Horcrux.

“She insisted I was, must have been, having an affair,” Harry said in an odd tone of voice. “Insisted. Said it was the only thing that could make me do this. Couldn’t get her off of it. I started it, but she all but kicked _me_ out in the end.”

Ron started at him with a furrowed brow, trying to figure out what to make of that tone and Harry’s curiously blank expression. “I – er – _Were_ you?”

“No. ‘Course I wasn’t. I didn’t have it in me to have it off with _one_ person, much less two.” He paused. “But I will.”

He looked up, his eyebrows raised and his gaze intent, and met Ron’s eyes with a purity of focus and intensity that would have turned any of those blushing, doe-eyed girls at Hogwarts to puddles seeping out from under the crumpled, empty robes that had formerly been theirs. “If you’ll allow me?”


End file.
